#matteo is such a bastard

[3llisarts]

Matteo Rossi - appreciation post

You thought I had a wip to share? hA

*Gif creds to their respective owners < 3

I fuckin love my lil sarcastic son

[obsessedwithceleste]

Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

[oh-puffle-cakes19]

Brats Making Noise

- Fluff; Mattheo Riddle x Reader x Theodore Nott

- Summary; The other boys in the common room get too noisy for Matteo liking as you and Theo are sleeping.

Word count - 1k

“Will you lot, be quiet!” Letting out a grunt, Mattheo turns around making you loosen your arms around him, “Sorry, my love,” he kisses your forehead, as he can’t exactly reach Theo, he opts for stroking his forehead softly. In return, Teddy gave him a small sigh of approval.

“Never knew Riddle would be whipped enough to decrease the noises!” Enzo smirks, playfully as he pulls out another card from his deck.

“A month ago he would be playing with us and shouting louder,” Blaise laughs, putting down his card.

“The cocky bastard is all loved up, can’t even see clearly with the cloud of mist,” Draco snickered.

“(House Animal) and snake has theo into the mix, he could have at least played uno with us,” Blaise sighs, leaning back.

“What happened to him anyway?” Lorenzo asks the stupid question.

“Turn around and see for yourself, how many times? You are so oblivious,” Draco shook his head, pulling out another card to place.

Lorzeno turns around to see you three on the sofa, “Ohhh, I see what you mean Bliase,”

“I can still hear you,” Mattheo opened one eye to look at his friends, “Theo couldn’t barely sit up straight let alone play a bloody card game!”

“Protective much, it’s a fucking card game,” Enzo grins as he shows his cards to Matt.

Mattheo rolls his eyes, having no time to argue with the barbaric brat. He’s like a fish out of water, most of the time, does not take a hint.

For a while during their card game, it did get quite.. too quiet! However, Mattheo already had his eyes closed, snuggled up with you and Theo, not caring about anything other than you both.

By now, You and Theo have both changed positions snuggling into Matt’s neck as he is in the middle. His protective arms graze with light touches like feathers to comfort you and Teddy.

“Oh, the fuck sake will you stop trying to cheat!” Draco shouts loudly, reaching across the small table and yanking Lorenzo’s jumper over his head.

“Why, did you do that forrrr?” Enzo whines, with a scowl appearing with messed up hair as he pulls his jumper back down.

“If you can’t see, you can’t cheat!” Mattheo snapped his eyes open to the sudden abrupt noise, “Now will you shut the fuck up because my princess and teddy are trying to sleep,”

Theo makes a grunting sound as he turns his body to get comfortable against Matt. He didn’t want to move the two of you since you both had little to no sleep for the past week due to you both being sick.

You whine, “Matty, too noisy,”

“Shh, princess, I know, we going to go to bed now,” Mattheo was just about to get up until Draco spoke up.

“Oh, so sorry your highness,” Draco snorts, “Didn’t realise you stole Theo by your charming Witt too!” Shuffling his non-existent deck as he places his second to last card in front of Enzo, “Uno,” he says, smirking.

“That's it!” Lorenzo makes all the cards fly around the room with his wand. The small table crashing against the wall.

Blaise just holds his head in his hand, “Your such a sore loser man,”

Mattheo seeing all the chaos unfold, deciding to not go until things have calm down in fear of something to be thrown at him while holding you.

“You did this last time and the time before that, why can’t you just play normally,” Draco huffs, “Has Daphne not giving you her attention,” his face soon turning into a teasing grin.

Lorenzo’s face becomes inflamed with range but nowhere near Mattheo’s face.

“You can not play quite nor fairly, if I hear one more pipe out of you two, I will feed you to Potter on a platter stuffed with an apple,” Matt snarled sharply.

“Sh, Sh, my sweethearts, go to sleep,” Mattheo whispered, gently stroking both yours and Theo’s forehead. Matt has no clue how you both have not fully woken up yet with all the chaos. Now it makes it easier for him to carry you both to bed as he is in the between you.

Both of his friends quit their snarky words towards each other, and just nod, giving the fact that he has been the moody/grumpy one in their group.

However, ever since Mattheo has been officially dating you and Theo, he has been a lot more pleasant to be around.

“We are going to bed now, so you have all the chaos you want,” Mattheo rolls his eyes, carefully standing up and lifting you into his arms.

“Yh, night; sweet dreams,” Lorenzo teases, Draco smirking as he knows what he means.

Mattheo has you into his arms leading you to his and Theo’s dorm, lying you on the bed gently.

“Where’s our teddy,” You slightly open your eyes, muttering into your sleep as Matt lays you down.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to pick up Teddy, princess,” Matt whispers, kissing your forehead as he tucks you in, “I’ll be back,”

You nod, snuggling under the covers, satisfied.

Mattheo hurries to the common room seeing that Theo is indeed still asleep. Just as Matt picked up Theo without any effort at all.

Lorenzo stretches his back and yawns, “Sweet dreams, lover boy!” With a wave of his hand. Draco and Blaise snickering at Enzo’s comment. Matt glares at them, not bothering to comment as his priority is his girlfriend and boyfriend.

“Matty,” Theo snuggles into his chest. Matt lays Theo down next to you, instantly you both clung on to each other like Velcro.

“Teddy,”

“Princess,”

“Sweet dreams, my sweet boy and girl,” Matt kisses both of your foreheads before sliding into the bed, Theo feeling a strong arm wrapped around him as he turns to have his arms around you.

“Goodnight, Teddy and Matty,” You barely heard Matt but you still could make out what he was saying.

“Mm, Goodnight, Cara Mias,” Theo mumbles, drifting to sleep with you both.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Who You Love

Antonio Dawson x Reader

When your cheating ex hits town it causes a stir up

Warnings: some sexual talk and a little violence

You were walking through the bays when Stella called your name. You looked up and she looked pissed. “What’s wrong babe?” she pointed towards the door “Um Mateo is here and asking for you” you froze in your tracks “Oh hell no” you spun around and headed outside. That bastard had cheated on you multiple times when you were together. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole if you were single, let alone happily taken.

You could hear Stella hollering to round up Gabby, Matt and Kelly. You whistled and Mateo turned around, a smile slipped onto his face “Damn baby, you still look good” you had to fight the full body gag that caused “First of all don’t baby me. Second of all, what do you want exactly?”

He smiled “I wanted to see you. I just got back in town, been thinking about you. About us” you nodded slowly “Leave. This is my workplace and you really truly do not want me to have to call CPD” you spun around and heard him start to follow you until Kelly and Matt stepped around you. “I’ll get you to talk to me baby, I still love you” “She said leave asshole” Kelly damn near growled. You heard Matteo mutter some stuff before he finally left.

Stella eyed you and Gabby raised an eyebrow “You gonna call Antonio?” you shook your head “And cause him to lose his shield because he committed murder? No ma’am” she shook her head “Come on babe. Don’t make me lie to him” “If he asks if Matteo came here. Tell him. If he doesn’t ask, don’t tell him” she nodded so you looked around “Got it?” Everyone nodded.

You weren’t protecting Matteo by any means. You were keeping Antonio from getting in trouble. Matteo was a possessive, narcissist asshole who had thought he owned you. You’d gotten with him right after Shay’s death when all of you were going through a rough time. It’d taken you too long to see him for who he truly was. You loved Antonio and refused to see him get in trouble over that piece of garbage.

You had just stepped under the steaming water when you heard the bathroom door open, a smile slipping onto your face “Toni?” he laughed “No cariño, it’s santa” you laughed “In that case, I’ve been a really good girl” a few moments later the door opened and he stepped in with you, pulling you against his bare chest, the water beating over you both.

You groaned lightly as his fingers started to massage the muscles of your shoulders “My girl, damn thinks she’s super woman carrying people outta burning buildings” you shrugged “Oh come on, you know you think it’s sexy” he grinned “Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen Querida” and leaned down to crash his lips against your, hands sneaking lower.

You gasped out his name when his fingers found their way between your thighs “I love you Toni” you whispered against his lips. He smiled “I love you too”

________________________

Once you and Antonio were out of the shower, he asked if you wanted to go to Mollys. “Just to grab a quick beer with the unit” you nodded “Sure love, let me get some jeans on. I know you don’t want me going in a towel” he let his eyes trail over your body “No, that view is only for me”

You walked into Molly’s with Antonio’s arm around you. You felt a smile slip onto your face when you spotted your crew from fifty one and his crew from the twenty first. He led the two of you towards the corner booth where his unit was. You slid in next to Kevin and he grinned at you “Sup little wildfire” you nodded “Not much Atwater” 

Antonio winked at you “I’m gonna grab us some drinks” you started talking with the unit, not really paying attention because hell you were with one of the top units CPD had to offer. You heard Matteo’s voice and tried to crawl behind Kevin “Hey baby” 

Every member of intelligence looked from you to Matteo “I already told you to leave me alone Matteo” you urged. “And I already told you I still love you” he insisted. You rolled your eyes “I don’t give a damn” he reached for your arm, Jay started to grab his but before he could Antonio came out of nowhere,had Matteo’s arm twisted behind him and his face shoved down into the table “Hey you piece of crap. Did I just hear my girl say she’s already told you to leave her alone”

Your eyes widened, this could get really bad really fast. Matteo tried to get out of Antonio’s grip but that was laughable. “She knows she still loves me” He insisted and Antonio nodded, stepping back to let him stand up “Go ahead, try to touch my girl” You knew the play. If Matteo laid a hand on you then Antonio was acting in defense.

“I’m in love with Antonio. He’s a real man” you told Matteo and him being the dumbass he was had the nerve to say “You fucking..” he never got the next word out because when Antonio hit him blood started pouring out of his nose and he went down hard. Antonio moved to hit him again, Jay moved to grab Antonio and Kevin hollered for someone to call a patrolman so charges could be pressed on Matteo.

You stood next to Antonio after he spoke to the patrolman and Platt. He acted in defense of you, that was clear from witnesses. You and him could go home. You were just fairly certain he was mad at you. He hadn’t spoken two words to you since Matteo was dragged away.

___________________

You walked into Antonio’s place in front of him. You stopped to kick your boots off and hang up your jacket. “Baby, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he came to the station house” you turned to face Antonio but instead of anything else you were met with him crashing his lips against yours. 

His hands went down behind your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. A gasp of surprise left you. He grinned “Bastard thought he was gonna get my girl? I would’ve killed him” you laughed in relief “You’re not mad at me?” he pulled back from your lips to stare at you “Never baby, I know you love me as much as I love you. Fuck that idiot. Now let me spend the rest of the night loving on you” you smiled “I like that idea” 

@elvenpirate51

@agentafter

[azrielover]

Skyfall : “Hello”

This is an OC x azriel story which will come in bits and pieces, meaning you could probably read each part as a one-shot in any order! Each part of the “skyfall” series will have one of these mood board covers which gives the “vibe” of the chapter 🫶🏼 I am judging the timeline of the story based on if the year 0 represents the end of the first human wars which are noted in the acotar series! Therefore BCE stands for “before current era” and CE is “current era”.

| Summary: Noelle, the adopted daughter of the Illyrian Lord of Vornhale, discovers a family secret while sneaking around the manor.

| Warnings: child abuse and domestic violence (alluded to and near the beginning)

| Word Count: 2k

| Skyfall Masterlist: click here!

33BCE:

“Why do you never listen insolent girl?” her governess spat, sharp fingernails dug into Noelle’s pale arm as she was dragged further and further away from the falling snow outside. She could still just make out the figures of her elder brothers, Kraven and Matteo, play-fighting through the frosted window, their dark features standing out against the snow dancing around them as the circled each other, wings glowing as the setting rays of sun shone through the membrane. Scrambling to find purchase along the stone walls of her Vornhale manor, the five year old continued to thrash in the older Illyrians hold.

“Please Mistress Cordelia,” she begged, boots kicking at the stone floor as they reached the stair case which led to the manor’s sleeping quarters and the study of the Illyrian Lord of Vornhale, her father. As a very traditional, respected male within the settlement, Tobias Blackwell took his position as “Lord” with the upmost seriousness. Although he was not her real father, he and his wife Thera had taken Noelle in as a newborn, raising her as their own after her mother had died in childbirth and her father was never identified. Thera had been being longtime friends with Noelle’s late mother, and with a yearning for a daughter of her own after two boys, taking her in was an easy decision to make.

Reaching the top of the dark stone steps in a much calmer manner in which their showdown began, Noelle, ever the antagonist, muttered, “Stupid hag”. Her governess froze and stared for a moment then promptly grasped a fistful of Noelle’s hair, white locks tangled in the firm grip of the weathered female’s hand and promptly began to be dragged through the halls.

“Let go! Let go!” she begged, body jerking as her white Illyrian wings grazed the floor, “I’ll walk to my room myself please Cordi, oh please.” Her feet shuffled clumsily in an attempt to keep up with the fast pace she was being pulled along at, wincing as her hair was tugged relentlessly.

“Deciful child,” Cordelia seethed, “No supper for you tonight, and Lord Tobias will be informed of this beastly behaviour,” Noelle whimpered at her words, “You have no right to act this way”, she went on “after you were blessed by the cauldron to be housed with the Lord and Lady of this house.”

Her room was fast approaching, the guards, glacing at her as she passed by, beginning to light the torches along the halls as the day shifted to night, “Do you know how many Illyrian children would kill to be in your position?” she continued, still walking, “A bastard, orphaned girl with nothing to her name being bestowed with riches, food and protection at her beck and call.” A look of disdain crossed her tanned face as they made their way inside the room, “You, child, are undeserving of the mother’s blessing. Stay here until morning. Do not leave.” Turning on her heels, she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Huffing in admission, Noelle reached up to gently touch her tender scalp, flinching away as she made contact. Focusing on the kernel of light inside of her, she closed her eyes and rested her palm atop her pale blonde hair once more. Glowing light seeped from the tips of her fingers and weaved it’s way along the parts which still hurt, dissapearing into her skin where the pain quickly began to fade, faster than her fae healing could by hours.

Sighing glumly and rolling her eyes, Noelle stalked to the head of her large bed and rested her small hand on a mismatched coloured piece of stone which only just stood out against the rest of the wall. Pushing the stone forward with some effort, a mechanism inside the wall of her bedroom clicked and a hidden door way appeared before her, she quickly entered before it shut behind her. She didn’t like to resort to leaving her room this way as it always made things much more difficult, but it seemed as though she was out of options if she wanted to play in first snow of the winter season before morning came.

Noelle was a stubborn child and found it completely unfair how her adoptive brothers were allowed to enjoy extra play time and she was deigned to be stuck looking down at them from her bedroom window woefully. Having discovered this hidden passage way a few months beforehand, it quickly became her most harboured secret. She was sure no one in the manor knew of it’s existence and Noelle intended to keep it that way, it was very useful and this was her room afterall.

It was pitch black as she followed the dark path down a winding staircase. As no one knew of the passages existence, there was no servants to light the torches along it, and Noelle herself was much to small to reach and light them herself. So instead she rested both hands upon the walls on either side of her, tucked in her wings tightly so they wouldn’t graze the stone, and slowly made her way down. The walls were cold under her touch, and slightly slimy with something she tried not to think too hard about what it could be.

She had never been down the passage after sunset. Usually pockets of light shone through cracks in the walls, but today no such light was given. She had already pushed her own magic by healing herself earlier, so producing any light herself was out of the question.

Noelle began thinking of the many snow angels she planned to make once she got outside, giggling quietly to herself as she remembered Matteo’s sorry attempt at his own, which ended up looking more like a blob than an Illyrian boy. He tried to hit her after she had laughed at him but she had doged him like always. That was when she had been called inside by her governess and Matteo had scampered off to join Kraven like nothing had happened.

The wall began to grow more frosted under her touch, and the stairway downward began to flatten, signifying she had made it to ground level. She ran her fingers along the stone as she strived along, knowing she would soon be out in the fresh winter chill, yet as she walked, she suddenly felt metal and wood on her left. Stopping out of curiosity, she turned to her side and felt about still cloaked in darkness, managing to make out a the shape of a door, a cold, metal knob and a big key hole she managed to stick her finger through and wiggle around. She had not come across this door before in her secret adventures through the passage.

A tug in her chest pulled her closer to the wooden door in front of her, and the urge to continue in that direction became so overwhelming strong, Noelle decided it would be rude to ignore it. Fumbeling around for the door knob again, she twisted it slightly, and to her surprise it opened up into yet another corridor, yet at least this one was lined brightly with torches. Staring opened eyed for a short while at her discovery, the small girl grinned and followed along, forgetting all about the snow outside.

It was the screams that gave away what this place was to Noelle first, the next was the constant sound of dripping water, but the last was the rats which scurried along in front of her dress. Jumping back in horror as a small squeak escaped her, she grimaced. This was her father’s dungeon. She had been forbidden here as it was “no place for a girl”, but she wasn’t afraid. Yet. Nodding to herself in determination, brow furrowing, fists closing tightly, she marched on following the invisible thread which tugged her though.

As she ventured on, less torches had been lit and she felt a sense of real unease for the first time, speeding up slightly in hopes she could out run whatever it was which unnerved her, until finally she was stood in front of a small cell. The cell was only about double her own height and was barred with thick metal. There was a small window, also barred, at the top left side which blew in frost and ice cold winds which explained the intense cold she now felt. Due to it’s size, she doubted that even during the day time this cell would see much light at all.

She was about to head back when a small twitch of movement caught her eye. A small boy was staring right at her, his striking hazel eyes pierced right through her violet ones and his dark hair reminded her of her brother’s, except the child infront of her looked much less groomed, dirt was raked through the matted strands and smeared across his face and body. His supposedly tanned skin seemed sickly pale and the wings she could see protruding from his back were stiff and smaller than should be normal for an Illyrian at his stature. He couldn’t be older than she was.

Noelle approached the bars to the cell, hands finding purchase on two of the poles as she leaned her small face to fit through the space. “Hello”, she whispered cautiously, “I’m Noelle, my father is the Lord of this manor, who are you?”. The boy only stared back at her quietly, observing her and pressing himself further into the wall behind him as he crouched in on himself for warmth.

Noelle glanced to the small window once more and pursed her lips, huffing slightly, “Are you cold?” Silence from the boy across from her again. Stepping away from the cell, she nodded to herself, trying to figure out how in the name of the mother herself a little boy had come to find himself in the dungeons underneath her home.

“Well then,” she started diplomatically, clasping her hands behind her back as she began to pace up and down the front of the boy’s cell, holding eye contact, “You can’t have been here for long. I think I would know if a little Illyrian boy such as yourself has been living in my manor for the past five yea-”

“Four” the boy replied so quietly, Noelle would have missed it if she were not half fae herself, “what?” She stopped and watched as he shifted himself against the wall again, as if in pain. “Azriel,” he pointed to himself with a slender fingers, “is four.”

“Oh,” Noelle breathed, “so you can talk.” The boy, Azriel, nodded once sharply, face grim.

She smiled lightly at him, “I’ve never met anyone younger than me before, what in the cauldron are you doing down here anyways?” Azriel only narrowed his eyes at her, angling his head slightly upwards, the shadows bending around him so well she could hardly see his body. Her eyes caught on the rusted keyhole of the cell door, “you must not get out very often,” she whispered cautiously, Azriel stayed silent as she continued, “have you.. ever been out?” The boy shook his head “no” in a small movement. Noelle hummed in contemplation, “Well, this must be some sort of mistake, my father would never keep a child locked up in here lik-,”

“My father,” the boy’s voice sounded again, notably more confidently this time, “is Lord. Is Tobias.”

Noelle shook her head with a laugh of exasperation, “No silly, father has only 2 sons, Kraven and Matteo.” At the sound of her brother’s names Azriel cringed and she could physically see him close off again.

“You’ve met them.” she said, not a question. A nod. More confused than ever the five year old half Illyrian, half fae child continued her pacing as her thoughts raced. This changed the perception of everything for the youngling, she knew her father had a tendency to be cruel but this? The sound of chattering guards sounded getting closer, startling her into action. Looking back at the boy again, Noelle had made up her mind.

“Ok Azriel,” his name rolled smoothly off her tongue, “I will come back and visit again soon,” Azriel just stared at her, still wary, “I promise.” She dipped her head in goodbye and raced off towards the passage which would lead her back to her bedroom before she was caught.

Maybe Azriel could be her new secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s the first part done, hope you enjoyed! This is only the beginnings of Azriel and Noelle, their story definitely gets more interesting and will go right through from where we are now till present time in the acotar series!

Thanks for reading ❤️❤️

[ilmietitore]

"Ciao, we're here for a health and welfare for Ciprianni."

Welcome to my ask blog for mah bastards, Matteo Schiavoni, Elian Rivera, and Jamie Schmicht, I'm your host, H :3c

Here be some ground rules:

All asks will be drawn out!!!

We're all a-okay with anything pertaining to violence & gore, suggstive stuff is cool, but keep Tumblr's policies in mind when asking! No penises, sorry :(

On that topic, I'm comfortable with depicting most things, just nothing involving the bodily harm of children.

Please don't spam.

Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and anything of the sorts is not tolerated, your butt will be blocked.

Dm's are 1-800-Closed.

Asks that are 1 word or nonsensical will be passed on.

Some factoids about Schia:

He's 47 and 6'4"

Goes by Matteo or Schia

He/Him, Cisgender, and Unlabled

He's very blunt, charismatic, and sadistic

He's Italian and bilingual in English and Italian

Fronts as a "businessman", but works as a hitman for the Mafia

He and Angus Ciprianni are business partners and partners in crime (and in toxic yaoi lol)

Elian Rivera is his current underling

He is married to a Lucia Schiavoni (she may make an appearance or two) and they have a young daughter, Emilia Schiavoni (may make some appearances too)

His text will be yellow

Some factioids about Rivera:

She's 28 and 5'10

Goes by Rivera

She/He, Nonbinary, and Lesbian

She is smug, hardheaded, and immoral

She is Mexican and bilingual in Spanish and English

Also a "businessman", is a newly mademan and is working under Schiavoni.

May or may not be living a second life... the men mey never know...

Her text will be red

Some factoids about Jamie:

He's 34 and 6'

Goes by Jamie

He/Him, Cisgender, and Asexual

He is quiet, calculated, self-reserved

He is African American and trilingual in English, Italian, and German

You guessed it, a "businessman", designated sniper and intel collector for the mafia. Also sells organs on the black market for dopples.

Works for himself for the most part, but does work along side Schiavoni and Ciprianni. Is also teaching Rivera under the table (fun with organs lol)

His text will be green

And some factoids for yours truly:

Name's H

21 and 2 nickels tall

Main blog is @double--hh

I use All/Any pronouns

Timezone is EST

I have a full-time job (im not a businessman I swear), please be patient with the response times </3

My text will be pink

So yeah, have fun pookies <3

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 13 - The Talk

Slow Burn | Refuge | Decision | Mend | Hunger | Thin Mints | The Garden | Philip | Moments | Full Moon pt 1 | Full Moon pt 2 | Tend | Absolution |

Author's Notes: Just some long overdue conversation~

Content Warnings: werewolf whumpee, vampire caretaker, sprained ankle, recovery, emotional whump

----

One step at a time.

Matteo clings to the railing with both hands. He lowers his good leg first, then follows with his sprained one. His body protests each and every movement, but he persists, intent on reaching the living room. A record is playing low and Dante will be there, reading or drawing or some other hobby.

"Almost there...Almost there..."

"What do you think you're doing?"

He looks up to find Dante standing in the foyer with his hands on his hips. Matteo sighs and sits down on one of the steps.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I can't spend another minute in that bed. I needed a change of scenery."

And some company would be nice.

"You could have called for help. Did you at least take your medicine first?"

"What are you, my mother? Yes, I took it."

Dante gives in and goes to help him up. They make it to the living room without incident, where Dante eases Matteo into a recliner.

"Thank you," Matteo says quietly. He never wants to take the care he's been given for granted.

Once Dante has him settled he goes to the record player and turns the album over. He resets the needle and gentle instrumental music begins to play.

"All of the records are Mr. Townsend's," he says, motioning to a full shelf. "I never got to get my music...or any of my things."

Matteo relaxes into the chair and watches Dante return his spot on the couch and pick up a shirt he is in the process of mending.

"I get that. I didn't take much with me when I left home. And what I did bring I lost during a transformation."

"So...you left home because this happened to you."

"Yeah," Matteo admits quietly. It still hurts to think about. "On my first full moon the wolf wrecked my apartment. I got lucky that the tenant on the lower floor was away that week or god knows what might have happened. After that, I left the landlord most of my money for the damages, sent a letter telling my family I was traveling, and got out. Never looked back."

Dante hardly reacts, but there is a deep sadness growing in his eyes like gathering storm clouds.

"And the one who turned you," he asks carefully, "was it the boyfriend you told me about?"

"Yeah, the bastard. He must have known something would happen - he asked to stay over on the full moon. I never found out why, or why me. Maybe he wanted to kill me, maybe he wanted a...a mate or something." He makes a face at the thought.

Dante silently takes it all in while still working the needle in and out of fabric in a steady motion that's as relaxing to Matteo as the music.

"When it happens," Dante asks after a while, "you don't have any control?"

He sighs. "No. It's like I go to sleep and the wolf takes over. I don't remember a thing the next day - I just wake up with the consequences of whatever it did."

"Like jumping out of a third story window?"

"...no. That was all me."

Dante abruptly stops sewing and turns to stare at him.

"You were right there," Matteo tries to explain. "Another minute and it might have attacked you. I had to do something."

Dante slowly puts the shirt aside and gives Matteo his full attention. "You were protecting me?"

"Well, yeah. You let me stay here. Gave me food. You've been really good to me. I couldn't just let it rip your throat out."

"So you..." Dante almost laughs. "Wow. That was..."

"Stupid?"

"Brave."

Oh.

Matteo blames his post-moon hangover for the stinging in his eyes.

The two fall into a thick but comfortable silence, both reflecting on the things they have said and heard. Dante resumes his sewing and Matteo rests.

By the time Dante speaks again, the final song on the record is fading.

"The house has a fallout shelter. Maybe you can use it next time."

Matteo's heart skips a beat.

"Next time?"

"If you want to stay that long, of course. You can do whatever you want."

The offer is only for him to stay another month, but it's so much more than Matteo dared to hope for.

It takes him a moment to find his voice.

"Okay. Yeah. Yeah, it's worth a shot, right?"

Dante doesn't reply, doesn't look over. If Matteo wasn't watching him so intently he might miss the hint of a smile. But before it can fully take shape, Dante is up and crossing the room to change the record, and the moment is gone.

[knowledge-paradox]

Honestly ion know where to start either ?? Maybe tell me about Matteo and Luca it doesn't matter how disorganized it is just ramble away ig

OKAY OKAY SO

this might be . very long I'm sorry

also I recently posted their family tree and here are the characters sheets of Luca and Matteo if that can help you :33

SO. they're cousins- that's the first major info honestly

Matteo and Luca pretty much grow up separated- Matteo spends his (very traumatic) childhood in the colonies while Luca grows in a pretty luxurious house in London. the main reason why they grow so apart is because of Lucia (Luca's mother) who was terrified of her brother (Gio, Matteo's father- that guy is an insane mess of a human being) possibly hurting Luca, so even if she could have reached out more she decided to not do so

Luca pretty much grows hating on Matteo, thinking that he was the reason his mother was so distressed every time they visited... and because Lucia told him to keep distances since Matteo is also a "bastard child"

when Matteo leaves to attend college in Venice Luca was already (even if pretty recently) married, and when Matteo's father died- since both his "mother"(they're not related) and younger sister Marinella weren't actually able to like . work since both of them were illiterate- Luca stepped in and help for a few months until Matteo had to abandon his studies for "an inconvenient event that happened back in Italy" (aka he was almost hanged for sodomy)

basically the fact that Matteo was going to abandon his remaining family (especially his sister who Luca was very attached to) gave Luca an extra reason to hate him. which is kinda hypocritical of him since he'll then leave his recently discovered pregnant wife to join the army 😭

Then the war starts, and these two are at the opposite sides of the war- Matteo's a bluecoat (even if he wasn't much of a patriot himself, he was mostly fighting for his own reasons) and Luca's a redcoat. They do meet during the war, Matteo was captured by the redcoats mid September 1777 and was prisoner for basically two whole months- where Luca wasn't so kind to him (and Matteo gained more major trauma from that) until the man escapes on November and they don't have another proper conversation until 1781 where . Matteo gets injured by cannons and he kills Luca while trying to escape

SO THIS IS THEIR WHOLE DEAL VERY SUMMARIZED

(a lot of things that go into the depth of the characters are either into my amrev oc tag or on discord but I can't bring myself to find more stuff rn sobs)

I HOPE THIS HELPS THO :333

[vesperpharsalius]

Have you listened to the RR audiobook? It’s free with Spotify premium and I really appreciate how the narrator swings between an Irish and English accent, it feels very textually relevant.

Hello!

No, I have not. My audio processing skills are for shit; I’m critically dependent upon subtitles and can’t comprehend anything, really, from listening alone. So, no audiobooks for me. And I’m very old–fashioned when it comes to books, tbh; battered and bruised physical copies collecting dust on my shelf, for the most part. 

But I am aware of what you’re talking about and I deeply appreciate it, too—the deliberate shift in accent. I’ve seen it discussed before and I absolutely agree that it’s textually relevant, especially where Darrow’s shift between monologue and dialogue and the ‘Gold’ accent itself is concerned, as it corroborates much of what the canon implies about how Golds speak. More on that later. 

Most aspects of Red culture and society are still nebulous, but perhaps the most significant thing we do know is that they’re all culturally, and perhaps even ethnically, Irish. And not just in a subtextual way that’s designed to imply or evoke a heritage without stating one outright. In his conversation with Darrow after he’s rescued from the Jackal in Golden Son on p. 389, Dancer says this, on the origin of bloodydamn:

It's a fine word. Rolls off the tongue. Done some research. Been with us since the first ancestors, you know. The first Golds, the ones with normal eyes and gold uniforms, took most of the early recruits from the poor bastards from the Irish isles after the radiation from London turned the isles into a wasteland. The Golds took the highly skilled migratory workforce and recruited them to be the first Pioneers. Their slang just stuck around, jumbled up a bit. History's fascinating, isn't she?

Reds don’t share a common appearance—the Reds of Lagalos, for example, are dark–skinned although most artists refuse to acknowledge this compared to the fair–skinned Reds of Lykos—and they probably don’t all trace back to that Irish diaspora. But there is something fundamentally Gaelic about their shared culture—the emphasis on dance and music, alcoholism and excessive swearing, remembrance through song, the Vale, naming customs, British English loanwords in mineslang—and the differences between mines appear to be negligible in this regard. 

Darrow’s own accent is quite strong at the beginning of Red Rising—Matteo can barely understand him—and slowly shed as part of his Gold conditioning. In addition to talking too fast, Darrow struggles most with his natural rhotism—his r’s are hard and pronounced and overall in the wrong place in his mouth; he can’t soften and roll them as the Golds do. Dancer’s specific advice is to put an imaginary h before them, which implies that hard consonants come naturally to Darrow, as well.

Quickness, rhoticity, hard consonants and even the tendency to interpose h’s are all characteristic of your standard Irish accent.

The accent does vary from planet to planet and Core to Rim; Reds from the Asteroid Belt, for example, are said to elongate their vowels more, which perhaps implies inversely that the Reds of the Core are fast–talkers even for their caste. But I think it’s fair to surmise they all have some degree of a brogue.

Darrow’s accent is ostensibly suppressed by the time he leaves for the Institute, but I’d like to think it’s not totally absent from his voice throughout his undercover era, to a discerning ear. Also that, once he’s openly Red again, it returns; not in full force, as years of Goldspeak would have a permanent influence on his natural voice, but in a subtler and lighter way that’s still, nevertheless, noticeably different from any Gold.

I’ve implied as much in both Ice and Fire, my Red Rising retelling, and More than Brothers, my Light Bringer oneshot. Cassius is more than a little obsessed with the way he talks and how different he sounds from… well, everyone else. He has the richest fusion of accents, on top of the natural eroticism of his low and commanding voice, that has a magnetic, if not heliotropic, effect on Cassius; both descriptions abound. Even as his strictest suppression, at the beginning of the Institute, Cassius can hear a little bit of the musicality that Matteo just couldn’t wash out with soap—and it’s one of the many things that make Darrow so singularly captivating to him.

So! Delighted to hear the audiobook is doing its part. Darrow should absolutely have an accent, wherever the plot permits, and the Darrowlogue should be narrated with one. Matteo says he sounds like he was born in a dumpster at the beginning of their lessons; I should barely be able to understand his inner–voice, at all. Perhaps it diminishes as time passes and he assimilates more and more into Gold culture, but it should always be there.

It’s one of the last vestiges of his Color, one of the only ways that he is still identifiably Red from an external perspective and one of the only pieces of his pre–Carving identity that he can actually preserve throughout his mission, that he doesn’t have to sacrifice (in his head, at least) and can eventually reclaim—and he does. You cannot tell me he doesn’t, even if Pierce Brown waved at the best opportunity he had to mention it—Ch. 40 of Light Bringer—as it passed by.

But this is all rather obvious, because the canon is explicit, if brief, about the Reds being of Irish extraction. Tbh, the names themselves are a dead giveaway and the mineslang is all the reinforcement you could need. The Golds, however, are a different story.

I’ve discussed Goldspeak before, in this speculation on what formative education before the Institute entails, written some months ago for a friend of mine as a world–building aid, and it’s likely that British English is the primary mother–tongue of Common, especially where the Martian, Lunese, Terran, and Mercurian dialects are concerned. 

The Venusian and Ionian dialects have several loanwords from Arabic and Japanese, respectively, that imply greater distance from English and perhaps even language barriers, but it seems that the aforementioned dialects are fundamentally similar and mutually intelligible. They draw heavily on Latin and English alone, with no apparent influence of another modern language; that leads me to suspect their ancestral language is, indeed, English, or very close to it.

Forgive me for quoting myself, but it’s a long document and this is the relevant section: 

Much of Common—while not equivalent to any modern language given the mere separation for our time and theirs (some thousand years), distinct from both English and Latin, and which Pierce Brown ‘transcribes’ Tolkien–style—nevertheless, does seem suggestive of British English and, to a lesser extent, an antiquated form of North American English. This is most evident in the eccentricities, which are deliberately chosen to distinguish Common from the rest of the ‘translated’ text. Gory is the posh equivalent of bloody and goryhell for bloodyhell; bloody and bloodyhell, of course, are quintessentially British English. Fop and plum, also prominent in the RR vernacular, are English words; swell, ripe, and shag are North American English, Old English, and British English, respectively. Pixie itself has an unclear etymology but the creatures themselves are fundamentally British. And prime, of course, comes from Latin, by way of English.  In an AMA, Pierce Brown described his decision to mash words (archImperator, clawDrill, scarabSkin) as deliberately evocative of Germanic linguistics; English, of course, is a Germanic language.  While most cities have classical names inspired by either ancient Greece or Rome, there are also a fair few on Mars, especially, that have British names—Norton, Yorkton, Caragmore, etc. This is a grace not extended to any other modern language in the Red Rising world.

Continued.

Ultimately, it’s the accent that gives the Englishness of Common away. When Darrow is learning how to ‘talk like a Gold’ on p. 100 of RR, he’s taught to harden his h’s, soften his r’s, elongate his l’s, and speak slowly, in a languid drawl that suggests arrogance, condescension, and a shovel up your ass; if we add elongation of vowels to this list, we’ve just described the Received Pronunciation of British English, also known as the Queen’s English—the most pretentious English accent there is, so–called because only the most blueblooded of aristocrats talk like that. And there’s a sick irony, of course, in the fact that even this post–racial society that’s only faintly English, at best, manages to be virulently Hibernophobic. It’s the thirtieth–second century and the Irish are still entombed at the bottom of the social and linguistic hierarchy. What is more quintessentially English than that? If the ‘highBorn’ accent is close to the RP and standardized across the pseudo–English planets of the Core (more on that later), that must be because of rigorous schooling foisted on children of the upperclass. It’s not necessarily an unnatural way of speaking if you’re raised in a bubble, but the majority of highBorns are almost certainly suppressing an accent that’s indicative of their city, to say nothing of the potential influence of a heritage language from Earth that’s still preserved by their House and distracting them with entirely different practices. In that vein, it’s likely that the ‘lowBorn’ accent is not only more natural but also more diverse and localized, reflective of individual linguistic circumstances and influenced by the culture of wherever that Gold happens to hail from, characteristic of that city or region in the same way a Cockney or Glaswegian or Geordie accent might be—to someone from the UK, at least.  The further removed you are from a place, the less likely you’ll be to notice subtle differences in native accents, which is a good explanation for why Darrow never does, in fact, notice any; to an unseasoned ear, it can be difficult to distinguish more than ‘upperclass’ British English and ‘lowerclass’ British English. To Darrow’s ears, they just sound like posh Golds and crass Golds. But there’s definitely more to unpack there.   ‘MidBorn’ accents likely fall somewhere between the affected RP and their natural voice, depending on their level of affluence (how much ‘corrective’ education they’ve received in how to speak ‘properly’) and pretentiousness (how badly they want to pass as upperclass). And, in defense of the highBorns, that is likely true for them, too. The only one that I can see consistently speaking in the RP without a hint of another influence is Priam, because he truly is that insufferable.

This is the AMA I’m referencing:

Beyond the obvious distinctions between classes, there’s definitely more diversity in regional and planetary accents than the canon insists upon.

Also from the reference:

It’s relevant Darrow is intentionally mimicking Augustus in the scene above, a highBorn Martian reared in Agea, as Lysander mentions the existence of a recognizable ‘Agean brogue’ when he’s describing Mustang’s voice in his IG flashback. He doesn’t mention the characteristics but, divorced from the typical Gaelic context, brogue as a language descriptor implies a very strong accent. Lysander also mentions, at the beginning of IG, that Pytha has ‘spice’ in her voice that betrays her Thessalonican upbringing, which implies that her accent is fundamentally similar to that of the Brothers Rath.  Lysander also notes, in that same scene where he describes Pytha, that the standard ‘Martian accent’ is characterized by a drawl, which implies there are some distinguishable differences between the accents of the pseudo–English planets of the Core. Lysander himself has a ‘lilting’ accent that’s stereotypical of the Lunese and particularly evocative of the Palatine, which implies that Luna possesses both a general accent and distinct localized accents, too. Terran Golds, iirc, are described as sounding flatter and terser than their Core counterparts; Darrow also mentions they’re fast. (Perhaps closer to a standardized American accent than anything British; in juxtapose with the Brits, we [I am an American] often sound flat and fast? Or heavily influenced by a different language, perhaps something native to Asia or Africa, as that seems to be where their population is concentrated, like the Venusians, who almost certainly have residual Arabic in their accent?) I haven’t read DA in a while, so I don’t remember if he describes the characteristics of any Mercurian accent when he’s undercover as Cato au Vitruvius, but it’s safe to assume their voices are also distinctly Mercurian and diverse. And Ionian Golds, of course, have an Afrikaans accent, clarifying that some modern accents have, indeed, survived intact to the thirty–second century. Venusian Golds almost certainly have residual Arabic in their accent. There are no ‘official’ pronunciations of names in the RR world; Pierce Brown has said that everything varies from planet to planet and city to city; for example, in the Lunese pronunciation, Darrow rhymes with sorrow and Cassius has two syllables (Cash–us) while the Martian pronunciation rhymes Darrow with harrow and gives Cassius three syllables (Cass–ee–us). While most characters alternate between dialects, if only between the ‘formal’ highLingo and ‘informal’ lowLingo, they will probably not shed their accent—unless they’re consciously suppressing it. The most affluent Golds are also impeccable imitators and mimickers of other people’s voices. The obvious example is Lysander, who manages to pass as both a Martian and a Mercurian amidst heavy scrutiny, but I think Cassius, who successfully passes as a New Theban for ten years and generally just seems to be something of a conversational chameleon, and Adrius, who puts on a convincing non–Agean persona in RR, are masters of this, too. 

I think there’s also something to be said about the influence of heritage languages on one’s accent. Although Pierce Brown has said that most families in the Red Rising world are ethnically ambiguous by modern standards, there are some with greater attachment and/or stronger links to their Terran/pre–Society ancestry than others, as this AMA attests.

And the fact that families like the Raa or the Saud have such an explicit ethnicity that’s reflected by the language of their homeworld invites the conclusion that other families, especially ones in a similar situation to the Grimmuses and the Valii mentioned above—that is, families who trace back or beyond the Conquering that are highly likely to be aware of their pre–Conquering ethnicity, like the Augustuses, the Lunes, the Bellona, etc—have, to some degree, preserved their ancestral languages.

The canon isn’t particularly helpful in this regard, but there are some implications and hints that can be speculated from, as I’ve done in this expositional bit of lore on my Bellona family—that is, the version of the Bellona family that appears in Alis Aquilae, my series. The TL;DR is that there’s a firm (ish; that is, there is a smidge of corroboration from the canon, if you squint, which is significant in Bellona–ology) basis to suggest the Bellona are Franco–Italian with a dash of Spanish and Hebridean Scot.

To quote from there:

And I think this influences how they speak, if only because they learn all their heritage languages to fluency, as a point of pride. As such, I think they have a tendency to elongate or overpronounce vowels, mispronounce consonants by either elongating them or yeeting them entirely, stress the wrong syllables, deepen/roll their r’s, and mispronounce their t’s as d’s, drop final g’s, and have much heavier intonation/inflection than the average Martian, if they aren’t careful in keeping proper RP. Darrow corroborates some of this, to a degree. He calls Cassius’ voice musical during their initial conversation. Technically, the Received Pronunciation that’s standard for Golds is itself musical, because of the emphasis on intonation and inflection, but Darrow doesn’t describe another voice like this, although they all, presumably, are emulating the RP at the Institute; so, Cassius’ voice is especially musical to his ears, worthy of note. It’s also fast, which it should not be, by any measure; it’s likely the Spanish jumping out. Cassius also uses lots of filler words, particularly ‘eh,’ which is characteristic of both Gaelic and Italian, especially at the end of sentences, as Italians often contrive (infamously so) to end sentences with vowels. And, while love of nonverbal language and gesticulation isn’t necessarily indicative of an Italian, we (I am Italian) certainly do have a reputation for it; Cassius, canonically, is fond of both. The first, fourth, and seventh tendencies, characteristic of the Hebridean accent, are especially strong in Julia and her siblings, as their mother insisted their native language be Scots–Gaelic and, even after they learned Common, she still forced them to speak it—in her presence, at least. Julia didn’t maintain the practice to that extent, but her children were still taught the language.  

Going back to the first document, I mention there, in the section on the likely influence of heritage languages on individual accents, that:

In Ch. 12 of I&F, Cassius has a long conversation with Lea where he clocks her as an Acaron (a small city that’s close to Olympia on the Amazonian coast; it’s canon, but only mentioned in passing, iirc) because he can hear the residual French that’s characteristic of the Acarian accent; their dialect also has French loanwords. Overall, most of my characters, original and canon, have a linguistic situation like this. One of my more prominent OCs, Vindictus, has an odd mix. Courtesy of the more recent Welsh, he has that trademark melodiousness and heavy inflection, speaking much slower than everyone else. But the Russian influence that’s characteristic of the broader Attican (he’s from the Bellona–allied ruling family of Attica that Adrius displaces in GS) accent jumps out in his tendency to start sentences with an interrogative tone and end with a declarative one; basically, the inverse of a Valley Girl. Another one, Deianira, is from a Terran House that only immigrated to Mars about three generations ago; she also spends much of her time visiting relatives on Earth in southwestern India. As such, she possesses more of a Terran accent than a Martian one, speaking faster and flatter (that is, with less intonation) than her Martian peers, and she’s further influenced by her heritage language, Hindi, rarely stressing syllables or words, at all. 

I don’t know the extent to which the audiobooks reflect this (not my inventions, obviously, but a general diversity in voice) and if the Gold characters with similar vocal idiosyncrasies—say, Cassius and Tactus—sound different, at all, or if they’re all just generically British. I know they used to have multiple narrators? For the different voices and, eventually, the different PoVs. But they don’t anymore? From what I’ve gathered.

But if you’re a reader rather than a listener, if you haven’t already, consider this your sign to start using your imagination about how distinct all these Golden voices might be—and all the new and exciting ways they can hate and mock each other as a result!

[trippinsorrows]

do you plan to write at least up to the point of where roman goes to mexico to find soso

oh yeah! it's gonna be like oneshots, most likely in chronological order. so far, what i have planned to write/show is:

the first meeting between solana, roman, and matteo

first "date" between roman and solana (decided she's going to keep this thing with her and roman and matteo a secret cause i couldn't justify bayley knowing what's going on and being okay with it. she's definitely going to be like, "stay away from them. they're no good.")

more scenes with roman and solana just cause i'm biased asf

scenes showing the tension building between roman and matteo, as roman's feelings become genuine and matteo gets jealous

roman and solana first time i.e. where she loses her virginity to him

matteo realizing solana loves roman (and vice versa), thus her never choosing him, and matteo telling her the truth to break up roso

solana confronting roman and telling him she hates him and that he's dead to her/her leaving to mexico

still trying to work out if i want him to be like "fuck it, i can't live without her" after trying to let her go because he knows he really fucked up, and going to mexico or someone tips him off that solana is pregnant, thus him being like 'fuck space' to see if she's really pregnant with his baby

the absolutely clusterfuck that happens when roman shows up at her family's house to see her and it's revealed he's the father, because i'm going to have her keep it a secret from her family (she said it was just a one night stand)

and that's going to be a mess because both xavier and wes are going to be livid.

"she's 24 years old! you're almost 40. you fucking took advantage of her, you bastard!"

a mess.

[wailingbones]

it wasn't odd , by now , to find dakota at the moretti home even when no one was there maybe more so now that things didn't seem so casual between himself and gabriel at the moment . what was odd was the idea of someone knocking on the door . anyone that was close to the morettis would have just walked in and if it was kieran or matteo , they wouldn't have bothered knocking . dakota half thought about ignoring it before blowing out a sigh as he pushed himself up to get the door , brows furrowing at the person across from him . @ladyviscera

" mister meeks , " dakota spoke . " didn't realize you and gabriel were friends . " he knew they weren't . gabe may have been cordial and charming to most people but friends wasn't the case here .

" i'm not here for gabriel , " he spoke . " wanted to speak to you . saw your car when i was driving by . " dakota noticed how tired the man appeared . the red in his eyes . the bags . god , randy being missing was really taking a toll on the sorry bastard .

he had half the mind to refuse or to step outside but decided against it as he stepped out of the way for the man to come inside before moving toward the kitchen . " what about ? " he asked before pausing . " sorry about randy , by the way . hopefully he comes home . "

the man's footsteps were slow as he followed behind dakota . " what i wanted to talk to you about , actually . " he paused in speaking , watching as dakota turned to face him . he almost wanted to laugh when he opened his mouth . he was sure dakota was going to try and deny it . " you were with him that night . "

" no , " dakota spoke with a shake of his head as he crossed his arms over his head . " saw him very briefly before i left . "

dakota's eyes narrowed when mister meeks seemed to offer a laugh in return but there was no real humor to his voice as he took his phone out of his pocket . he watched in mild confusion as the older man clicked a few buttons before he heard it . the struggle . randy begging for his life . dakota hadn't thought twice about seeing randy's phone on the ground before putting it back on his body before sinking him in the lake . he had just assumed it dropped out of his pocket . he never once thought that a call could have gone through .

" didn't realize i missed his call until today , " mister meeks spoke . " you were with him . " he stepped forward forcing dakota to step back , cornered against the kitchen counter . " where is he ? "

for a moment , maybe dakota looked concerned , or sorrowful , but the emotion was quick to wipe away from his face . " in the bottom of a river . probably isn't very recognizable . " he tilted his head . he knew the man thought he had his smoking gun with the voicemail and maybe randy said his name but he could have said something mistakable for dakota's name . " before you ask , no . i don't feel sorry . your piece of shit son deserved every fucking minute -- "

the man had lunged , dropping his phone in the process . gripping dakota's shirt and slamming him back against the counter before bringing him to the floor , knocking over kitchen utensils in the process . dakota scrambled , or tried to , but the man's grip on his shirt was tight , forcing his back off the floor before slamming him down almost hard enough to knock the wind out of him .

" all randy wanted , " mister meeks hissed , " was friends . all he wanted was -- "

something more .

something he could take .

the man hit him .

" and you took him away , " mister meeks breathed . " you took him . " he forced dakota up again before slamming him back against the floor . dakota's ears rung , vision almost hazy as he attempted to get out from underneath the older man before strong hands wrapped around dakota's throat , squeezing tightly .

it was the first time , in a long time , that dakota felt real panic . real fear . he wasn't as calm and collected as before , fighting like hell , almost wildly to get the man off , hand reaching for something , anything that he could use .

[littlepeakydevil]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Summary: Mistakes are made, and the consequences have begun to come home to roost.

Word Count: 4,415

Warnings: Violence, decapitation, and pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 17: Heads Will Roll

Luca was still inside the truck when, to his horror, the roar of machine gunfire began to assault them from above. One of his boys who had already stepped out into the square went down, blood spraying from the holes that the weapon ripped through his torso.  

He had just enough time to burst from the doors of the van and dart behind it, using the body of the truck for cover from the barrage of bullets raining down on them. He only had the briefest of moments to catch sight of Shelby up on the terrace above them, hunched behind a massive machine gun aimed down at where they were all gathered in the square. 

For a moment, his head spun, heart hammering in his ears, trying to process just what the actual fuck had happened. 

One second, they were following Shelby’s car into a secluded little square surrounded by apartment buildings, the next, they were being assaulted with seemingly unending gunfire.

His teeth gritted. It had been Polly Gray. That bitch had baited him. Shelby had probably been in on the whole fucking thing from the beginning. 

There were no easy exits, and very limited cover, especially with Shelby already up above them with a bird’s eye view of the square. They were like rats in a fucking barrel.

His finger flexed preparedly against the trigger of his gun, waiting for the cease in the gunfire. Shelby would have to reload sooner or later. And Luca was fairly certain that it was just him. The little red-haired whore hadn’t been with him when he left the hospital, and if he had any other men with him–especially that mad dog of a brother–they would already know.

There was a brief break in the gunfire, and Luca took his chance, whipping around from his cover behind the truck, firing wildly in the air towards the terrace. Shelby ducked down behind the rail and out of sight, but Luca didn’t stop firing. Behind him, his men joined him in unleashing a storm of bullets in Shelby’s direction. Luca just barely could make out his figure dart from the crate he was huddled behind and into the open door of the flat nearby. 

A seize of rage squeezed at Luca’s throat. The fucking bastard was getting away. He roared orders to his men, sending them in different directions to come at the apartment from the multitude of entrances available to them. Matteo and a few others remained behind him as he ducked into a doorway that led to a staircase. 

His focus was so intensely turned above, fingers flexing against the trigger of his gun while he climbed the steps, ready to fire in case Shelby suddenly appeared above them, that neither he, nor any of the others, noticed that while they had entered the building with five of them, only four had made it to ascending the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lily slowly lowered the heavy body of the Italian to the floor, her left hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose, the other supporting his shoulder so she didn’t drop him.

They had not even noticed, as she jumped stealthily out of the shadows she’d been crouched in, snatching the Italian lingering at the back of the group after the others began to climb the stairs. She’d cut his throat at the same second she covered his mouth, keeping his sounds contained in the leather of her gloves as he died. It did not take long; her hunting knife cut into him like butter, purposefully angling his body back slightly so that the blood poured out onto his chest, rather than splattering all over the ground. 

She kept her movements smooth and silent, slinking up the stairs like a cat. Luca and two of his soldiers were climbing the stairs quickly, their focus up above, where Tommy had been, and not down below. The fourth member of their party had fallen behind a little, taking too long to try to peer out a dirty window. Quick as a viper, Lily darted forward, and repeated the movements she had just inflicted upon the first Italian, hand clamping over his mouth and carving into his throat with her knife. 

It was risky, taking him like that out in the open on the stairwell. But they were still in the shadows, Luca and his men so far up ahead and focused on getting Tommy that they weren’t even considering what might be creeping up on them from behind. Still, after setting the body of her second victim down on the stone steps, Lily pressed her back against the most shaded wall, waiting until she heard the men step out onto the terrace of the level that Tommy had been shooting at them from. Not that Tommy would be there anymore. 

She knew where he was headed next, just like she knew a shortcut through this very stairwell that would lead her right to him. 

Halfway up the stairs, she heard an exchange of gunfire from somewhere nearby, her shoulders instinctually drawing in until she realized that it wasn’t for her. It lasted only for a few moments, and then there was silence once more. She continued to race up the stairs, swallowing the bead of fear in her throat. 

Please be okay.

She had to figure that he was, otherwise she’d have been hearing the shouts and jeers of victory from the Italians right about now. Angling her head up, she adjusted her grip on the knife, and continued her ascent. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy shouldered his way past the sheets hanging from the clotheslines. They fluttered and twitched in the breeze, surprisingly heavy as he pushed through them.

He flinched at the blast of gunfire that sharply followed him, pushing his legs to run faster, barely keeping ahead of the stream of bullets that clinked audibly where they smashed into the railing that lined the roof. The Italian man who had shot at him in the stairwell was still following him. 

Tommy raced to the door that led off the roof, then hesitated. The Italian had stopped firing, fidgeting to reload his gun. Fast and silent, Tommy ducked and weaved through the white and blue sheets, taking care to avoid stirring them and giving away his approach. 

He came to a stop when he could see the silhouette of the man through the large, white swath of cloth hanging between them. He fired at it, teeth gritting savagely, bullet casings falling to the ground with a tinkle of metal. The white sheet stained red.     

There was a shout to his right, and he mentally cursed at the realization that the Italian had brought a friend with him, the man’s rifle already half raised to point at Tommy’s chest. 

His movements were impeded by a sudden, violent jerk, eyes going wide as saucers, a hand flying to his throat as a knife embedded itself in the space just below his ear. He went down like a bag of rocks. 

“You alright?” Lily asked, jogging out from behind the fluttering sheets, going to the Italian where he had crumpled and unceremoniously yanking her knife from his neck.

“Yeah. Are you?” he reached out a hand to her, helping her to straighten, looking her over for injuries.

“Yeah.”

“Right. Come on,” he beckoned. She followed right behind him as he pushed his way back through the swaths of drying sheets, leading the way inside. They burst through doors, into apartments containing huddled family members, staring back at them with terrified eyes. Tommy shouted orders for everyone to stay down and inside. Not just in the hopes that they would listen to him and remain out of the crossfire, but also to draw Luca in and after him with the sound of his bellowing voice. 

“Do they know you’re with me yet?” he asked Lily as they rushed down a hallway. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten three so far,” she stopped as they came to a staircase. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here and hunt them through the halls. I think that I might be able to get one or two more.”

Tommy hesitated, the thought of just leaving there making his stomach churn. “I don’t…”

“They’re so focused on you, it’ll be a wonder if they see me at all.” She was reaching up to tuck her hair more securely under her cap to hide the distinctive shock of red. “Most likely they’ll just think I’m a tenant of the building. A tiny little woman in an apartment building full of women and children? They won’t give me a second glance.”

“Unless they recognize you.”

She gave him a look, touching his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

He glanced nervously at the hallway behind her. There was no time to argue. And he trusted that she knew what she was doing. He stooped low to kiss her.

“Be safe.”

“You too.” She took a step back from him, twirling her hunting knife. “Go.”

He cast her one last look, and took off climbing the stairs. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Luca,” Matteo hissed from over his shoulder. “Luca,” he repeated, when he didn’t answer right away. 

“What?” Luca growled back, head snapping around the glare at him like an angered dog. 

“Where are Vincenzo and Sal?”

Luca looked back down the hall where his men were lined up behind him. Vincenzo, Sal, and Frankie had met up with them inside the apartment, having already swept the lower levels. Good thing, too, considering that Marco and Dante weren’t with them. Strange; he’d thought that they had followed him inside, but they must have stayed out on the square.  

But now all he could see were Frankie and Rocco behind him and Matteo. 

“Did you tell them to break off?” Luca asked, annoyance sharpening his tone to that of a needle, eyes narrowing in slits at Matteo.

“No! I didn’t say a thing to them.”

His face twitched in frustration, fighting back the urge to shout. “Useless motherfuckers…” they would be in for a sharp reprimand when this was all over. Breaking plans and formation without orders…

“Do you think Shelby might’ve gotten them?”

Luca gave him an unimpressed look. “How?” Unless Shelby had suddenly changed his tactics from shooting to a silent method of killing, or, even more unlikely, managed to somehow sneak around and behind them, there was no way he could have picked off Marco, Dante, Vincenzo, or Sal. 

No, it was just his men thinking that they knew better than him. Fucking Matteo, encouraging everyone to read that book about taking initiative a few months ago. What was so wrong with just being a good fucking soldier and listening to your superior officer?

He couldn’t focus on that now. All that mattered was getting Shelby. He was so close. So close to getting the vengeance and justice he had dreamed of for over a year. He would bring Shelby’s head to his mother, he decided. As a gift. She could mount it on her wall. Or place it on a stake outside her house for the crows to feed upon. 

He shook his head sharply, and, like a panther stalking its prey through the jungle, began to lead the way down the hall.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Frankie peered into the apartments, eyes sweeping over the mother laying facedown on the floor, both arms around her two children, holding them tight against her. She peaked up at him through a curtain of dark hair, gaze massive and terrified.

The creaking of floorboards behind him made him jump, spinning around, gun raised and at the ready. There was no one there, but he swore that he saw a flash of movement through the crack of the door behind him. Rifle still raised, he inched towards it, chancing one quick glance back at where Luca, Matteo, and Rocco were advancing in front of him, heading towards a staircase at the end of the hall, checking inside each apartment as they went.

He pushed the door to the flat open with his fingertips, immediately replacing the hand on his rifle, steadying his aim, preparing to fire upon Shelby the first moment he saw him. 

Instead, he was met with a tiny woman crouched down on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, head bent to bury her face in them. She had on a large dark coat, and he wondered if she had just gotten in when the shooting began.

A tad disappointed, but also distinctly relieved, at the lack of the man they were seeking, Frankie huffed, lowering his weapon and turning away. Luca had said that they were not to harm any civilians. 

He failed to see the blood from Vincenzo and Sal that was staining the woman’s hands, her face so properly hidden from him that he could not make out the splatter of red across one of her pale cheeks, the dark folds of her coat covering the crimson-slathered blade of a hunting knife laying by her feet.

Nor did he have time to process the greatness of the mistake he had made, as the second that he turned his back on the woman, she sprang up with near-paranormal, inhuman speed and silence, seized him from behind, and began to saw into his throat with her knife.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her hands were wet and sticky, the mixture of the Italian’s blood coating them almost entirely. It was mostly from the last two. The last one in particular, had made a considerable mess. 

Though to be fair, there was a good reason for that. 

She could feel blood sticking to her face and wetting her waistcoat and shirt. 

At least no one would ever be able to say that she was afraid to get her hands dirty. The coppery smell seemed to envelope her, familiar and metallic.

She flexed her fingers around the prize she had collected from the last one she’d killed. A little gift for Luca, should they manage to cross paths during this whole bloody affair.

He hadn’t seemed all that concerned that so many of his men had vanished. Too hyper-fixated on Tommy to think of anything else, she assumed. He would be regretting that soon enough.  

She heard a few horrified gasps from some of the tenants who saw what she had clenched in her hand as she passed by their doors, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, waiting with baited breath for the gangsters to leave.

Lily paid them no mind as she moved to the stairs, taking them down towards the exit that led out onto the street. If Tommy had gone upstairs and then went out and down the fire escape, they should meet in approximately the same place. 

The sudden cacophony of shooting suddenly thundered from outside, the sound making her wince, fingers tightening around her knife, footsteps hastening down the stairs.  

∗ ∗ ∗

“Come on, me and you, Tommy,” Luca jeered, standing out in the middle of the street with his arms spread wide. “Come on.” His machine gun was empty, tossed haphazardly to the ground. He’d ordered Matteo to stand down. He waited with baited breath, watching hungrily as Shelby slowly emerged from his cover, stepping out, gun clutched in his right hand, footsteps loud as thunder as they slowly drew nearer. Luca felt the semblance of a smile emblazon itself upon his face as he stared down his enemy. This was it. 

This was what he had been waiting all this time for. 

He began to recite the prayer in his head, the one that he had always known would be the one he’d say just before putting a bullet in the face of the man who had stolen his father and brother from him. From his coat, he drew his gun. Shelby’s blue eyes stared at him intensely. He looked like a big cat or a wolf, prepared to pounce at any moment.

But Luca had shot wolves before. On a hunting trip with his father in the mountains in Italy.

He cocked the gun, eyes narrowing slightly, ready to move…

“Hey, Luca!” A voice suddenly shouted from his right. A voice that he recognized. And suddenly he could hear his mother whispering in his ear. 

“Wherever Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind.”

She was walking towards him with purposeful, measured steps, black coat swirling around her legs, dark red hair pulled back out of her face. She wore the cap of the Peaky Blinders atop her head, and when she turned her head just the right way, he could see the faint glint of the razors sewn into the brim. Blood was splattered across one of her cheeks, and there was something vicious and mad blazing in her dark gaze. When she saw him looking at her, her face stretched into a wide grin. She held something dripping and grotesque up in her hand. 

“Is this yours?” she shouted, and threw it at him.

He stared, in open-mouthed horror, as Frankie’s head bounced and rolled across the pavement, settling at his feet face-up. Frankie’s eyes were open wide, staring up at him with his mouth slackened into a horrified O. As if begging for Luca to save him. 

He looked up, and the demon was standing there, grin widening, mad eyes electric with mirth.

A realization, violent and terrible, came crashing down upon him. 

She had been there the whole time, and they had not seen her. 

Where were the rest of his men? Probably splayed out in that apartment building, having suffered the same fate as poor Frankie. 

As poor Alessio, too. 

He had thought that it was those savages Shelby had hired from the mountains who had killed his cousin, but this suggested something else.

It had been her. Lillian Callaghan. The Red Demon. Thomas Shelby’s bitch, who had cleaved his cousin’s head from his shoulders.

His mother had been right. He had not listened to her warnings, but she had been right.

Everything, from Callaghan’s announcement of her presence to Luca’s earth shattering realization, happened within the span of about ten seconds. Behind him, Shelby had his arm raised, gun cocked and ready to fire at the back of his head. 

And then the police arrived. 

They began firing upon them almost immediately, rushing from their vans to swarm them Luca ducked. Shelby tried to fire at him a few times, but missed, and Luca cringed away against the onslaught of gunfire from the gangster and the police, turning heel and racing down the street with Matteo in tow. 

The police gave chase, but were easy to lose in the winding alleyways. The moment they were sure they’d lost them, he and Matteo leaned against the cool brick walls, panting. Luca bent over to clutch at his knees, staring at nothing as Matteo began to ramble off frantic questions that he did not really hear into his ear. 

Before arriving in Birmingham, Luca had made a list of potential problems and caveats that would need to be dealt with so that they could not impede his mission in enacting his vengeance on Tommy Shelby and his entire family.

The Jewish gang in London had been on the list. As had the Romani people with such close ties to Shelby that they were practically blood. And the people of Small Heath, who for some inconceivable reason, seemed to have developed some sort of fondness for Shelby and his gang. 

And now, Lillian Callaghan was at the top of that fucking list. 

∗ ∗ ∗

It took both her and Moss to pry away the three officers who had swarmed onto Tommy. Moss was furious, shouting at both Tommy and his men in equal measure. 

“There are three bodies that need cleaning up,” Tommy told him, still a little out of breath, reaching into his pocket and holding out a wad of bills.

“Nine,” Lily corrected. They both looked at her with wide eyes. She shrugged. “I got six.”

Moss shook his head, cursing under his breath.

“Come on,” Tommy mumbled, indicating for her to follow him as Moss turned to bark more orders to the officers under his command. Why the fuck did they have to show up then? They’d had Luca. 

Neither of them said anything for most of the walk back to the Shelby’s house, Lily digging around in her pocket for a handkerchief that she wiped her face and hands on. Tommy was sullen the whole walk, head down and lips set in a deep frown. 

“It’s not all bad,” Lily tried to raise his spirits. “We didn’t get Luca, but we got a whole lot of his men. Enough to make a dent in his forces.”

He just grunted. She sighed, patting his arm.

Polly was waiting for them inside, a clove cigarette clutched between her fingers, lines of worry etched onto her face. There were several other finished black cigarettes already stubbed out in the ashtray. Clearly she had been smoking and pacing anxiously for a while. 

“You alright?” she asked them, taking a cautious step forward once they were inside. Tommy nodded, silently going to put his rifle away. Polly watched him go, then turned back to Lily, eyes bugging a little out of her head at the sight of her bloodied shirt and waistcoat. “My God–”

“It’s not mine,” Lily assured, waving her away. Tommy came back, collapsing in a chair, pulling a cigarette from his case. Lily moved around to stand behind him, smoothing her fingers along his hair. “I need to go change. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded. Polly frowned. Lily pecked the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder and darting upstairs to their room, stripping out of her bloodied clothes and into some fresh, clean ones, taking a detour to the washroom to make sure she’d gotten all of the blood off of her face and hands. 

By the time she came downstairs, she could hear the rumble of engines as the rest of the family pulled up outside. Charlie was playing in the sitting room, while they all gathered in the kitchen. 

She sat down in the chair in front of where Tommy stood, twitching with her rings and smoking, not saying much at all as he debriefed with the other family members. The adrenaline was finally starting to leave her system, leaving her to feel jittery. 

“Look, I didn’t get Luca, but I got three. All right? Lily got six. That’s it. That’s what happened,” Tommy explained.

Johnny Dogs whistled. “Six, eh, Callaghan? You’re giving all of us a run for our money.”

She smiled slightly, still fiddling with her hands, shrugging bashfully. “I got lucky.”

There were footsteps behind them, as Charlie bounded into the doorway. Tommy scooped him up, hoisting him to rest on his hip. Soon, everyone was rising from their seats, Arthur insisting that she and Tommy come with them for a drink. She raised from her chair, shaking out her hands, giving little Charlie a soft smile and a gentle ruffle to his blonde hair. 

“You owe me lunch,” she mumbled into Tommy’s ear as they made for the door. He looked at her with a raised brow, head cocking while his lips quirked as he remembered their agreement from before the ambush. 

“Mm. I suppose I do, don’t I?”

She giggled, and placed a kiss to his cheek. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy watched Lily shield a yawn with her hand, squinting at the print on the paper she was reading. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes since they’d returned to the office, and he could recognize the telltale unsteadiness that so often settled in after a situation like the one they’d found themselves in earlier that day.

Shifting in his chair, he glanced over at the pictures on his desk, eyes settling on the ones of Grace. One was just of her by herself, a professional photo taken during her days working as an operative, and the other from not long before her death, baby Charlie settled in her lap. 

Tommy looked away, gaze focused up on the ceiling miserably. God; what she would have thought of them…

He stood suddenly, well aware that if he continued to just sit there and stew in his own thoughts, he would drown in them. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and head home?” he suggested, hand landing on Lily’s shoulder. She looked up at him quizzically. 

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I won’t be long. I promise.”

She considered, then nodded. “Okay.” She must have been even more tired than he thought. He took the papers from her, tossing them over onto the desk while she went and got her coat. He followed her to the door, Lily turning and giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded. “Less than an hour.” Really, all he needed to do was put everything away and lock up for the evening. She gave his arms a strong squeeze, and ducked out the door, mumbling a soft goodbye to Lizzie who was still at her desk.

Tommy busied himself tucking things away and tidying his desk, before going to the shelf of liquor that he kept, pulling out a cigarette and fumbling with a glass. He’d have one last drink, lock everything up, and go home to Lily and Charlie. It would feel good to just lay in bed with Lily on his chest, listening to her breathing while she slept, his fingers carding delicately through her soft red hair. 

The door opened, and Lizzie stepped in. He glanced back at her, then again to the decanters of alcohol. 

“Want a drink, Lizzie? I’ve had a hard day.”

He heard the door click shut behind her when she leaned her back against it. While he had been keeping his distance since the whole incident between her and May, he still tried to be kind and respectful towards her. She was part of the family, after all.

“I don’t drink whiskey or gin anymore, Tom,” Lizzie said after a long pause.

“Why not?” he asked, pouring a glass for himself.

And then she dropped seven little words that carried with them the promise of yanking his entire world completely off its axis:

“Because they say it harms the baby.”

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[hee-blee-art]

matteo & tiernan's daughter, aine <3

[ID: a page of digital drawings and three detail crops featuring aine, a young girl with tan skin, freckles, and curly red hair, dressed in various dresses; and tiernan, a tall fat vampire with medium brown skin, dark locs to her shoulders, thick eyebrows, and pointed teeth, dressed in various collared shirts. aine is shown standing, leaning, and putting on her boots in different dresses, each covered in dirt.

the first crop shows tiernan braiding aine's hair as she asks, "is my hair gonna look like yours?" tiernan replies, "hmhm, not quite, a stór, now keep still just a tad longer, yeah?" aine then says, "well make it look as pretty as yours, ok?" and tiernan says "of course."

the second crop shows aine looking annoyed as she sits at a table with a label that says "(during a history lesson)", saying, "why should I follow some dumb old king's rules? he doesn't even know me. he can't tell me what to do."

the third crop continues with tiernan ruffling aine's hair and saying, "that's right, darlin', the monarchy's just a bunch of bastards." out of frame, tiernan's husband matteo shouts, "tiernan! language." and tiernan says, "I'm teachin' her about the royals!" matteo replies, "oh! nevermind." end ID]

[matteo-dambrosio]

“I’ve held it together but a night like this, is begging for me to fall apart.” - Unknown

December 12th, 2023

“Where have you been?! It’s been weeks, Matteo, with not a word from you!”

The elder, Italian woman was screaming the moment her son walked through the threshold of the home they shared together. There was a mixture of relief and anger in her eyes, her hands gripping onto the fabric of his coat while Matteo attempted to set his luggage on the ground.

Matteo remained silent, enveloping his mother into his arms and holding her close. Her screaming ended, burying her face into his chest as she cried. “I thought you had died when you didn’t call home,” she said in a shaky whisper.

A part of me did, he wanted to say but he remained silent, his hand rubbing his mother’s back to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

As the days passed, his mother and father began to see the change in their son. Matteo hardly ate and remained locked in his own room, isolated and alone. He would only leave the house for work, returning late into the evening.

It was Friday night and Matteo lay in his bed. His phone propped against his chest, wordlessly scrolling through the few photos they had taken with their son. He had looked at them so many times, he had his son’s face memorized down to the smallest freckle.

Hastily wiping away the fallen tear, he sat up abruptly when he heard the handle move. “What?”

The hard knocking came immediately after. “Matteo, open the door. Your father and I would like to speak with you,” she said.

Matteo exhaled a slow, controlled breath and locked his phone, tossing it on the bed while he walked to the door. He unlocked the bedroom door, opening it and retreating to his bed. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. His father spoke first.

“What has been going on? We can tell there’s just something you’re not telling us so what is it?” his father asked, staring at his son’s face though Matteo didn’t look at him.

Matteo’s jaw tightened, staring at the floor. He took a hand and raked his fingers through his hair. “I have a girlfriend…” he started to say but was immediately cut off by his mother.

“I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? It’s the reason he’s been so secretive,” said his mother to her spouse. “Well, where is she? Do we know her family? Please tell me it’s that girl from church.”

A hollow laugh escaped Matteo. He felt so empty, so broken. “She’s from Greece. Santorini, all her family lives here. It’s where I’ve been,” he explained, seeing his father’s fingers curl into a fist as he said this. “And we have a son.”

The final words Matteo spoke were enough to cause his mother to step forward. Her hand came across his face, the sound of the slap piercing the silence.

Matteo said nothing more, only feeling the skin on his cheek sting from the blow his mother had given him. The room was filled with screaming. Vile, cruel words were hurled at Matteo. Disgrace to the family. Dishonor. Bastard child.

Matteo rose to his feet at the mention of his son. “Don’t you ever speak ill of him again,” he threatened, his tone cold as he addressed his father. His eyes bore into his.

“Leave this house. You’re no longer a part of this family,” spat his father, his mother crying against her husband.

Matteo took a step back so he could collect the luggage he didn’t bother to unpack. “A good father would have never said those words to his son. I know this because I would have never said any of this to Alessandro, no matter what situation he’d find himself in. Never,” Matteo said, moving past his parents without a backwards glance. He held his head up as he left the house, leaving his parents in their despair.

He texted Ava once he arrived at the airport. “I’m on my way home. I’ll see you soon, amore,” was all he said before pocketing the phone and heading towards his gate.

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Heretic Hunter

Alta Torrezon, four weeks ago

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Lazaro's study. A rarity for the city, and one that had uplifted its people. After almost a full week of overcasted storms, sunlight was more than welcome. The cleric took it as a promising sign, though he was never quite the type to fully believe in omens.

At present, he was preparing to assist in overseeing the trial for one of the lower-ranking priests within the Church. Apparently she had turned upon her mortal flock and exsanguinated eight of them. He had been there when she was first being brought in, listening to her rant and rave about the promised Age to come. The trial would not be very long. All that was left, really, was the documentation.

He was interrupted by the door being thrown open and a youth -- Lectitia, an aspirant of the Church who had been studying under him -- barged in.

"Condemner Ayere," she said, breathless. Lazaro stood from where he was seated.

"What is it? What's happened?" he asked.

"It's Marshal Vazante," the girl said between gasps for air. "He's in chains, they're taking him to the prisons, I don't know what's going on, I was just told by Matteo to come fetch you."

"Arturo?" Lazaro asked, his brows drawing together. "Take me there at once."

---

"Stand down, you bastards!" Arturo growled. He swung out wildly, shaking off two of his captors. Getting the bindings on him had taken a bishop and three paladins, and he was dangerously close to freeing himself. A thick iron collar had been placed around his neck, as well as heavy manacles around his arms and legs. Currently, he was being marched, little by little, through the streets of Alta Torrezon towards the looming fastness of its prisons. Alta Torrezon kept its prisons on the outskirts of the city, but marches such as this were common. People watched with fear and intrigue at the disgraced marshal. Many flinched each time he fought to loose himself from the ones keeping him bound. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"Nothing?" asked a languid voice. Arturo turned to the source of the voice, seeing a decadently dressed cardinal watching from the steps of one of the smaller cathedrals. "I do not think killing a hierophant is nothing, Vazante."

"You," Arturo said with clenched teeth. The cardinal held out a hand, and his captors halted, bowing their heads in supplication as he approached.

"You are very lucky, you know. If you were not a Marshal in good standing, you very easily would have been already executed for this heresy."

"It was either him or me, and I did what I had to do. He is the heretic, not me!" Arturo raged, rattling the chains that bound him. "I had been telling you for weeks, Herrere, he was consorting with the likes of the Antifex. I caught him just as he was about to engage in some sort of blasphemous blood ritual, and he was the one who tried to kill me first."

"A likely story," the cardinal said, almost sounding bored. "But at least it's a better defense than 'the enemy turned me mad'."

"It is true!" the paladin roared. "Get Lazaro out here. He knows me better than you ever did, he will know I speak the truth!"

"What is the meaning of this?" a familiar voice called, echoing off the stone of the high spires above. The cardinal and Arturo turned in the direction of the newcomer, watching as a cleric jogged over to the scene. A young lady was with him, but Arturo did not immediately recognize her.

"Condemner Ayere, so wonderful for you to join us," the cardinal said with a sigh. "It seems your dog has gotten loose."

"Cardinal Herrere," Lazaro said, giving a brief bow with both of his hands clasped before him. "I beg your pardon, but why is Marshal Vazante in chains?"

"Murdering a superior," Herrere answered. "Paladin Vazante murdered Hierophant Thiago."

"You do not have the authority to-"

"Your High Marshal has already approved of the demotion, Vazante," Herrere said placidly. Arturo grit his teeth, wishing he could bite his throat out.

"Arturo would never kill one of his own without reason," Lazaro said, looking anxiously to Arturo. Arturo's face was a mask of fury, his teeth bared and eyes filled with hatred. The girl who had accompanied the cleric stepped back, a bit startled by the look in his eyes. Even Lazaro looked scared.

"Neizan Thiago was a conspirator against the Church, Legion, and Crown. I have been reporting my suspicions for weeks," Arturo spat.

"And I had already ascertained that they were nothing more than suspicions made by someone who was obviously languishing because he was not out on the killing fields and inventing stories," Cardinal Herrere said with a very deep and dramatic sigh. "You have no ground here."

"This is the first I am hearing of such reports," Lazaro said, looking to the cardinal. "Why did you never share them with me?"

"Because of the reasons I already stated." The cardinal rolled his eyes. "Besides, not everything is for your eyes, Ayere."

"I am a condemner of the Church. In matters of accusations of heresy or conspiracy against us, I am one of the first who should be informed," the cleric said, his voice sounding steely. Arturo had hardly heard Lazaro angry. Exasperated, annoyed, irritated, sure, but never angry.

"And as a cardinal of the Church, I outrank you. I am the one with seniority, Ayere." Herrere crossed his arms over his large chest. "Vazante will be brought to our holding cells and we will have him exsanguinated by dusk tomorrow." Lazaro's mouth opened and his eyes widened in shock. Then he grit his teeth in a snarl, clenching his fists. Arturo noticed light beginning to build around his hands.

"You have no right-"

"Careful. You do not wish to act against a cardinal, would you?" Herrere asked. "That would be an act of heresy."

"To sentence Arturo without a proper trial and neglecting to share reports of conspiracy against Torrezon are grounds for heresy if not outright treason. You outrank me in many things, Herrere, but you do not have authority here." Resolve and determination punctuated each word Lazaro spoke. "Unhand Marshal Vazante at once, else I will charge you with heresy and treason."

"You would refuse to condemn a murderer?"

"I will condemn Arturo for his sins, but I will not do so without understanding the full story," Lazaro answered. "Not only will you not be sentencing him, but you will surrender the reports immediately. I say this with all of the authority invested in me as a Condemner of the Church of Dusk. I will accompany you to where you have kept them. If you have not retained personal copies, then I shall go to your archivist and ensure these reports are in my hands." Light flared, blindingly bright, causing Arturo to flinch away, hissing. There was weight and authority behind his pronouncements; this was a display of power the paladin had seen only twice before.

Blinking away bright spots in his vision, Arturo watched as the cardinal glared hatefully at Lazaro. But he inclined his head.

"Very well, Ayere," Herrere said with a sigh.

"Marshal Vazante will be held in the holding cells beneath the Cathedral of Dusk," Lazaro continued. "He will be in my custody as I question him."

"I hardly think that is fair. Is that not a conflict of interest?" Herrere asked, raising a thin brow. "You obviously have some personal stake in the man."

"Then I will have him questioned by Condemner Siurana if it so pleases you. But I am not sending him to the prisons for exsanguination until I understand what is happening."

"Fine. Rayan is competent enough," the cardinal said with a dismissive gesture. "I will be informing the Pontifex of your insubordination, Ayere."

"So be it. I will gladly explain the blatant abuse of power I see before me," Lazaro spat back. "Now show me these reports. And if they are even remotely credible, cardinal, I will be condemning you."

The cardinal flashed his teeth but said nothing, turning on his heel without another word. Lazaro looked to the ones holding Arturo's chains.

"Lectitia will accompany you back to the cathedral," he said, gesturing to the young woman standing behind him. "Once you are there, ask for Rayan Siurana, and tell him I will explain everything once I have returned. I should not be long."

"What of the condemnation in an hour?" Lectitia asked.

"If I am not back in time, then apologize in my stead and have them go on with the trial," Lazaro answered. He looked at Arturo, and Arturo tried looking as apologetic as he could. Lazaro just shook his head and followed the cardinal. Arturo watched him go until he felt someone tug at his chains and urge him forward yet again.

---

Innistrad, present day

A scream tore through the night. Arturo's head snapped up. He had been inspecting his newest weapon closely, trying to hone in on the strange... silence that was somewhere within it. He moved over to the window of the small inn room he and Lazaro occupied, pushing it open and staring out into the dark. The wind stirred, carrying the familiar scent of blood to his nose.

Trouble, he thought to himself. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Lazaro fast asleep. He needed to act, and he needed to act fast. Part of him wanted to wake the cleric, but he was utterly exhausted. He deserved his sleep. Arturo looked at the spear still in his hand, and after a brief moment of contemplation, he muttered a soft apology to Lazaro and went out into the night.

---

Following the source of the blood was the easy part. The victim had fought off their attacker successfully the first time, but obviously not the second. Blood was streaked alongside the walls of a nearby homestead and it was imprinted into the fleeing footsteps in the mud.

The culprit was also far easier to find. A vampire, dressed in... very angular clothing, was licking the blood from their fingers by the time Arturo arrived. The victim was, unfortunately, already mangled on the ground. The paladin grit his teeth and readied his weapon.

"What do we have here?" the vampire asked. "You don't look like a cathar."

"I am a paladin of the Legion of Dusk," Arturo said. "A culler of heretics and sinners."

"Legion of Dusk... ah, so you're the sanctimonious little bastards that have been trying to pretend you're better than us!" the vampire said with a laugh. "Oh, that's cute."

"No need to pretend when you obviously cannot help yourself, murderer," Arturo growled.

"Oh, please, little paladin," the vampire chuckled. "All of our kin must murder to survive. It isn't my fault that you and yours spend so much time moralizing about it." A smile grew across their face. "Tell you what. How about you just run along and go pray for my salvation, hm? I'm sure that will be very-"

The spear struck them right in the stomach. Arturo was on them but a heartbeat later, snarling as the other vampire crashed to the ground. The vampire screamed and wailed in agony, the smell of burnt flesh rising from the wound from the spear. The paladin tore it out, kneeling right on top of the vampire's chest, grabbing their throat with his free hand. The vampire placed their own hands over Arturo's, trying to claw free. Arturo did not budge.

Arturo looked down at them with undisguised contempt and hatred.

"In the name of the Saint and Church, I name you a heretic," he growled.

"How... could I... be a heretic..." the vampire croaked, "if I... do not believe... in your faith?"

"Shut up," Arturo snarled, squeezing tighter around their throat. "For the senseless death of innocents, for the depravity of your practices, I sentence you to death."

"So noble..." the vampire said with a wheeze. "Pretend... all... you... like... You are... no better... than us..."

The paladin leaned in close, his dark hair framing them both, his own face but inches from the upstart's.

"You're right," he said. "I am superior." He bared his teeth then swiftly forced the other's head to one side, sinking his teeth deep into their throat, and tearing it out with a savage twist. Blood sprayed and the vampire clawed at him, but it was useless. He thrashed and thrashed. Arturo stood, raised the spear, and in a practiced motion, used it to sever the head from the body. It rolled into the mud, the eyes glazing over and mouth agape in its final death throes. Pain throbbed in his skull, feeling as though something was slithering through his brain.

The paladin stood over the corpse, mulling over what to do with it, when he heard someone shout something indistinct over his shoulder. He turned and saw one of the townsfolk pointing at him and calling something to the rest of the town.

Damn, Arturo thought, realizing with alacrity how bad this looked.

"Wait," he called out, "this is not what you think. I killed the one responsible."

The person said something back, and Arturo growled internally in frustration. Of course, the one time he thinks he can handle himself...

"Get Lazaro," he said, hoping they would at least understand the cleric's name. "He will explain for me."

They seemed to understand that, at least. They dashed off as several others, brandishing a wide array of improvised weapons, began to form a mob.

---

The door to the inn room was pounded on with urgency. Lazaro stirred softly.

"Arturo, can you get that please?" he muttered tiredly. Again, the knocks came. He heard no response from his paladin. "Arturo?" he asked. Again, no response. Lazaro's brows furrowed and he sat up, realizing Arturo was gone. He then jumped up and answered the door, surprised to see one of the local preachers standing before him, holding a lantern.

"Urwin?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"One of your paladins has been found murdering another," the preacher said in the local dialect. "I caught him myself."

That woke Lazaro up. By all that is holy, Arturo...

"Show me to him. Quickly."

---

Arturo was keeping the crowds at bay, brandishing his spear but only using it defensively.

"My cleric will explain for me," he said, though the words felt useless. "It is not what you think it is." The looks on the faces of the villagers showed nothing but distrust and hatred. A heavy weight settled within Arturo's chest. They think I am proving them right.

"Arturo Vazante, this is the second time you go killing on your own and I have to save you," said Lazaro, returning with the human who had initially caught him. The people turned towards Lazaro, initally with malice, though the human next to him ordered them away. The people parted so Lazaro could get through. The moment he saw the scene, his eyes widened. "Explain yourself."

"I caught this one right after he was done toying with and killing that human," Arturo said, gesturing to the bodies with his spear. "I confronted them. I executed them."

Lazaro knelt beside the human's corpse, gently placing a hand on their chest. One of the humans stepped forward, grip tightening on a butcher's knife.

"What are you-"

"I am preserving the corpse so that it cannot be raised," Lazaro answered. He closed the eyes of the victim with his other hand as he spoke a soft prayer. Light shone from beneath his fingers and suffused itself into the flesh of the victim.

He then stood smoothly, looking to the human who had accompanied him. "That should keep them from your ghoulcallers. You may observe whatever burial rites you deem sufficient." The human nodded and came forward, gently taking the body. That was when he saw the body of the vampire, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Falkenrath." He said it with a mixture of fear and awe.

"Falkenrath?" Arturo asked, looking down at the corpse. "Like the murderer we were told about?"

"You killed a Falkenrath?" Lazaro asked, raising a brow. He looked back to the people. "Are there any among you who have seen the one victimizing you in your homes?"

Two people came forward. Lazaro gestured to the corpse, stepping aside to allow them to inspect it. One of them pressed a hand to their mouth in shock and nodded quickly.

"Congratulations, Arturo," Lazaro said, crossing his arms. "You found our murderer." He then cleared his throat, turning back to the crowd, and spoke.

"My paladin has done his duty," he told them. "He has found the one terrorizing your homes and committing the sin of senseless murder. Paladin Vazante is not the one who has murdered your folk, but rather liberated them."

The people murmured among themselves, and one of them spoke up.

"How do we know that he didn't kill both of them?"

"Do you think someone like me would be able to wield moonsilver like this if I was so infested with depraved sin?" Arturo responded, gesturing with the spear. "It would disgrace my people and my very oaths as a paladin of the Legion to do so."

That caused another ripple of murmurs. "No vampire can wield moonsilver!" One called.

"And yet, here I stand!" Arturo proclaimed, planting the end of the spear in the ground with his pronouncement. The people eyed him warily, still suspicious.

"He has blood on his mouth!"

"I tore out the bastard's throat, if you'd like to see for yourself," Arturo answered. "Right before I cut their head off. A fitting end, no?"

"He's right," said one of the humans who identified the corpse of the vampire. "That throat was torn first."

"I am not what you think me to be," Arturo said, lowering the spear. "We have been sent as emissaries of Torrezon. We have been sent to deal with upstarts like these."

"What Arturo says is true," Lazaro said. "My paladins are not senseless murderers. They kill only when necessary and only when it is the most just."

At least, we strive to now, Arturo thought internally, knowing damn well that framework of morality hadn't held in the last decade or so.

"I know that Condemner Lazaro is a good man," said the human who had fetched him. "We have shared many long talks these past few nights. On my very soul, if this is some grand deception, then may I never be welcomed into the Blessed Sleep."

This seemed to have a more positive affect on the townspeople. Weapons were lowered, faces and postures became less hostile.

"Return to your homes and rest," Arturo said. "There is one less beast in the night that you must fear."

There was some murmuring among the people, but the crowd did slowly disperse. Lazaro inhaled and exhaled shortly.

"What was that about working on your impulses?" he hissed.

"I heard someone screaming, I had to try and save them," Arturo said, putting his hands up. "I did not want to wake you, you've been running yourself ragged lately."

"By all that is holy." Lazaro pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is the second time I've had to save you from something like this."

"I know," Arturo said, his voice sounding weak and subdued. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Arturo..." The cleric sighed.

"... are you mad?"

"No," Lazaro answered after a moment. "Just... tired. You did a good thing here. It is not your fault these people jumped to conclusions." He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm... sorry for jeopardizing your reputation with them," Arturo said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't think you did. They will still be suspicious, but hopefully this delegation from the Order of Saint Traft will put them at ease. They should arrive within a few days." The cleric yawned. "I want you on your best behavior when they do arrive. No vigilante justice."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Arturo fiddled with the spear. "... it did burn the Falkenrath when I stabbed them, though. Why it isn't harming us I can't quite tell."

"An experiment for another day." Lazaro looked at the corpse on the ground, conjuring some light around him, but Arturo spoke up.

"Keeping it around may actually be useful. Proof for the commander," he said. Lazaro gave him a look, but reconsidered incinerating the corpse.

"You have a point." He loosed the magic coiled around him. "You are carrying that back, though."

"Me?"

"You killed it, you carry it. Let's go. And you owe me, Vazante," Lazaro said, turning and walking in the direction of the inn. Arturo looked down at the vampire, scooped the body from the mud and setting it over a shoulder, carrying the head in his other hand. Again, he felt something slithering in the back of his skull. He shivered but shook it off.

Probably just the first signs of a Fast. He should consider finding a way to feed soon.

He followed Lazaro back to the inn, spear in hand, not noticing how unnaturally it caught the light of the moon above.

[se-dissimuler]

Is Azzurra the flower girl at their parents wedding OR do they get married fast before the baby comes

jannik’s ringless for a while unforch. do not fret though its their choice. i imagine their parents lowkey pressuring them to get married because we will NOT have a bastard in the family but like. in a soft and kind way. of course matteo and jani don’t want to rush it BUT matteo DOES buy a ring when baby azzurra pops out he just waits for the right moment